From the old forum, here, once again is the epic tale of the search for meaning from a small piece of paper. I'll (and perhaps Eve) will be adding to this gradually until it's all up to date from the old thread. All the OOC stuff will be edited out from the original.

[b:e5c378d266]Julius[/b:e5c378d266]

[i:e5c378d266]At the haven of the Comtesse de Touraine[/i:e5c378d266]

"Julius, what the hell is going on?" Began the radiant, but concerned Comtesse. Julius muttered something about "damned Assamites" and "torching his car". Eveshka continued, "I thought that I was finished with this. First I am raised from Torpor, then I'm handed an out of the way realm to rule. A realm that has not really been anything but part of the Princedom of Paris, for 200 years, and now these damned assamites are prowling around again."

"I don't know about the politics around here, but I'll tell you this. I was presented in Gary, which had it's own Prince, but Gary was just an extension of Chicago. Sounds like you got shunted to one side, nice and easy, where you can be "looked after".

Eveshka walked into the drawing room, returning with 2 scimitars. "This is the mark of Set." She pointed out the markings on the scimitars. Julius shrugged, "Either Setites make as good customers as any or it's a complete red herring. Let's face it, Setites don't generally like to advertise their presence." Eveshka stopped and looked up into Julius' eyes. "Where is the scroll Julius?"

"Chicago." He answered. Eveshka nodded, "Maybe it's time we cracked the code then."

"I agree." replied Julius, "I think it's fated, some things need to happen. If we don't deal with it, then someone else will. The scroll wants to be decoded, it needs to be decoded. Whatever it's secrets are, they want to be found."

"Have you had anyone working in it over the past few years?"

"No." Smiled Julius "I've had it hidden, where no-one will even think of looking for it."

"How do you want to go about this then?" Asked Eveshka. "First," answered Julius, "We have to retrieve the thing. That's the easy part." Eveshka sighed, with the weight of untold ages upon her shoulders, "I am weary of this nonsense. I wish my final nights to be happy and tranquil. I HATE fighting. I HATE killing. And I FUCKING HATE BEING CALLED A PLAYTHING." She turned and moved to the balcony, staring out into the night. Julius followed quietly, "Plaything? Who called you that, and what's this about final nights?". Eveshka looked back over her shoulder, "One of your little apprentices." She shook her head, "I'm sorry, I'm just being stupid."

"I'll... explain... to the apprentice." Julius was silent for a moment. "You believe in that final nights stuff do you? Gehenna?"

"Whether or not there is going to be some enormous vampiric struggle that will destroy the world, or whether the "Lord will come as a thief in the night", things are working themselves in into a final frenzy. But Gehenna? No.. not really."

"I believe," Eveshka continued, "that Arikel still watches over me, but apart from that I don't think that any antedeluvians are still around. If they are, they surely don't care about what is going on today. I think that this Scroll is tied in with Bible Prophecy. They are coming to a head Julius. They are coming to a head and I am afraid for my immortal soul." Eveshka turned and stared down the river, Measha finally slinking out from under the bed. The cat hopped up onto the stone railing to be petted. Eveshka picked Measha, soon the cat was purring under the ministrations of her mistress. "I believe Tremere still exists. I'm sure you can feel his presence in Vienna." Julius shuddered, "and immortal souls fall under another's purview. This is all speculation, we need facts, we need to unlock the scroll." Eveshka nodded, "I feel it inside of me that there is some link between this scroll and the biblical apocalpyse. I want to be on the right side of things when that happens. How fast can you get it here? Or are we going to Chicago?"

"I have to go personally. For one thing, no-one else could get it, and for another, I wouldn't trust it to arrive if I sent for it. If you want to accompany me, I'd appreciate the company, not to mention the safety of numbers."

"Somehow I have to set up my "realm" in Usse as well." Eveshka bit her hand gently, "There is too much going on. How soon can we leave?"

"As soon as I can get a takeoff slot from Charles de Gaulle. I suggest we go to Chicago and retrieve the item, thence to Usse." Eveshka nodded, "Let me pack some things then."

"Right," agreed Julius, then added with a slight smile, "I'll tell you where I put it, once we're airborne."

Eveshka reappeared, long leather trench coat covering a stylish, yet loose fitting outfit. She sauntered to the bar and pressed a button. Part of the bar rolled out, revealing assorted weaponry. Eschewing the various firearms, she simply took up two swords, a rapier and a main gauche. Each blade was jet black with a skull on the pommel, and upon the cross guard, a single word, written in Hermetic Latin, "Fear".

Once in the safety of the smart, black, Darrant Industries Learjet, Eveshka visibly relaxed and began rummaging through the mahogany drinks cabinet. Julius, in contrast, was leafing through documents on a laptop and making a number of telephone calls. The sound of a cork being carefully drawn caught his attention for a moment. "Burmester Colheita 1900, very nice, Julius." smiled Eve as she skillfully decanted the ancient port. Julius pondered for a moment on Eveshka's casual attitude to a $1000 bottle of port, then shrugged and returned to his phone calls, giving her a brief smile when a glass of the ruby liquid appeared next to his laptop.

As the learjet flew, the decanter got emptier and still Julius was engrossed in his laptop and telephone, his drink untouched on his desk. Finally, unable to stand this behaviour any longer Eveshka grabbed the phone and slammed it onto the hook. "JULIUS!"

Julius looked at the phone, then at Eve, then at the phone again. "Yes, love?" He ventured. "I'll give you, "Yes, love", we've been in this stupid plane for 2 hours now and all you've done is make fucking phone calls and ignore me."

"Um..." Began Julius, trying to assess the mood of the changeable Toreador. "A few things needed setting up, if the operation is to go smoothly."

"Operation? You make it sound like a military action."

"Let us assume, for the sake of argument, that our enemies have gotten our flightplan and know we are headed to O'Hare. Let us then assume they will be following us, or have agents on the ground in Chicago. Further to this, we may assume that once we have retrieved the scroll, we may expect them to take an opportunity to take it at that time. I'd like to be prepared for such an eventuality."

Eveshka softened a little, "I hate the way your mind works sometimes. You worry me. On the other hand, I suppose I am glad you think of these things. How much more have you got to do?"

"I need to finish my conversation with Barry." Replied Julius. "Barry?" Asked Eveshka. "You'll see." Answered Julius, taking up the telephone. "And perhaps when you are done, my sweet." Grinned Eveshka, her mood changing faster than any wind, "There's a club I've been meaning to join, for some time now."

"Mmm?" Enquired Julius. Eveshka leant towards him, delicately stroked his inner thigh and licked her lips suggestively. "Make your phone call." She said.

"I thought you said we were landing at O'Hare." Said Eveshka. "Call me paranoid, if you wish, but I changed our destination en route." Replied the Tremere, as they came in to land at Gary. Stepping off the aeroplane, Julius smiled. "It's good to be back. Also, being here allows us to end-around Lodin's brood, somewhat."

The couple transferred to an equally black helicopter. "First things first." said Julius.

[i:e5c378d266]Haven of the Prince of Gary[/i:e5c378d266]

"Lucien, may I present the Commtesse de Touraine." Lucien nodded, "Commtesse." Then turned to Julius. "Please try not to cause too much trouble this time, Mr. Darrant." Eveshka smirked. "And I would try to avoid too much contact with Lodin's brood, or ideally stay out of Chicago altogether."
"I would think with the, ahm.. power vacuum, you could do much for Gary, Sire." Answered Julius affably. "Don't count on it, Capone and Ballard may like to fight with each other and indeed anyone else with delusions of grandeur, but they do tend to close ranks when Gary tries to make an impression. Now then, tell me your news and introduce me properly to your charming friend."

[i:e5c378d266]Darrant Manor, situated half-way between Chicago and Gary[/i:e5c378d266]

"Hi Dad!", said a tall attractive black girl, running to throw her arms around Julius' neck as he exited the helicopter. "You're getting better at that," smiled Julius proudly after the introductions were complete. "Thanks, Dad." Replied the young lady, "It's tiring keeping it up though." Eveshka looked puzzled, "I thought you said Becky was... younger?"

"Well, yes. It's ok Becky. Eve's a good friend." Becky shimmered, an illusion fading to leave a young girl, maybe 12 years of age standing before them.

[i:e5c378d266]Later[/i:e5c378d266]

"Yes, sir", replied Alfred, serving drinks. "Everything is prepared as you requested."

"I'll be needing the Daytona and the Van tonight Alfred."

"Very good sir.", replied the aging retainer. "Come on Eve, tomorrow work, tonight party." Enthused Julius, heading for the garage. Within, a variety of expensive cars were displayed along with one black van. Julius headed for the Daytona, just as the sound of motorbikes carried from the driveway. "Ah!" Exclaimed Julius, "Barry." ...

... "Barry, the Comtesse Eveshka De Touraine, Eveshka, my old friend Barry." If Eveshka found the idea of a Brujah biker, together with his herd of Hell's Angels, sitting on Julius' drive and revving their engines unusual, she didn't mention it, shaking Barry's offered (and somewhat engine soiled) hand politely. "Barry, can you take the Van and do an obbo on Cabrini, for me?" Asked Julius. "And tomorrow night, I've got a little job for you and your mates. Usual fee?"

"Usual fee." Replied Barry, "Right."

[i:e5c378d266]The Succubus Club[/i:e5c378d266]

"So, you got suckered, by this Jackson fellow into going after Capone?" Summarized Eveshka, once the pair were settled into Julius private rooms at the famous Chicago nightspot. "Then he got taken down and you gave him his first drink."

"That's about the size of it." Julius agreed. "After that, Barry had the bright idea of using my magic to trick him into taking two more drinks. The Ventrue still think they own that fortress, but in fact, Jackson is, ultimately, mine now. The place is a fortress, with the scroll safe and sound hidden away within. Tomorrow, we'll go retrieve it."

[i:e5c378d266]The following night[/i:e5c378d266]

"Well, babe, tonight's the night. Once again, we begin the quest, this time, I intend to finish it. Time to get ready." Julius looked over to Eveshka, who already was bucking her swords over a slinky black lycra number. Julius mused to himself that peeling her might provide some entertainment, however tonight was perhaps not the time. Knee high boots were next, with a dagger stuck down the side of one, and the whole covered by her trenchcoat. Julius went unarmed, trusting in his formidable magic.

Alfred appeared, with large quantities of vitae. "Ready Sir?" He inquired. "One moment, Alfred." He turned to Eveshka. "You know how to do this, right?" Eveshka nodded and the two concentrated, increasing the potency of their blood. For all intents and purposes, two fourth generation cainites now stood in the room. "How long will this last, Julius?" Asked Eveshka. "It varies." He replied, "Let's hope long enough." The two then filled up, their increased blood pools giving them the staying power they would doubtless need, if as Julius suspected, things turned nasty.

The doorbell rang, summoning Alfred to answer it. He returned promptly, "There is a" he coughed, "Spanner to see you sir."

"Good. We'll be right down. Ready love?"

"Ready as I'll ever be, let's go."

Lurking just inside the front door of the mansion, a particularly filthy member of Barry's Angel chapter was waiting. It was difficult to tell leather from beard, hair, grease and engine oil. A rich aroma of tobacco, exhaust fumes and alcohol clung to the air around him. Eveshka surveyed him dubiously. "Ello Julius, missus, Barry sent me over." Spanner began. "Right," nodded Julius enthusiastically, "I hope you haven't lost your touch."

"No way man, you know I'm the best." Rejoined Spanner. "Ok then... let's do this thing", continued Julius.

The trio headed to Julius garage. Eveshka headed to the Daytona, but Julius pointed to the black van. "This will be more appropriate for tonight's show." He said, motioning Spanner to the drivers seat. "Bulletproof steel, bulletproof glass, punctureproof tyres and well, wait until you get inside." Eveshka looked even more dubious, wondering if she had somehow wandered into some lost episode of the A-Team, but upon entering, realised that in fact it was the X-Files and that clearly this van belonged to the Lone Gunmen. "All custom stuff." Julius enthused, pointing out the Darrant Industries logos strewn all over the equipment. "Whatever you say, love." She replied, slowly, "Shall we go fetch the scroll, or what?"

"Right," said Julius and flicked some switches on the comms gear. "All units, proceed to phase one."

The trip to the heart of Cabrini Green was uneventful. The usual checkpoints were manned by armed guards. They were entering the heart of gangland. Kevin Jackson and his gang, The Bloods ruled over an area of drugs, prostitution, fences and petty crime. Jackson himself was a childe of Lodin, formerly Ventrue Prince of Chicago, until his death in the garou attack; rumours still persisted that Julius had been somehow involved, but nothing was ever proven. In any event, the uzi wielding Bloods at the checkpoints were expecting the visitors and so they gained entry to the city block in which Jackson made his haven. The streets themselves were eerily quiet, save for the patrolling bloods. "All units, proceed to phase 2." Instructed Julius.

Once inside, Eveshka and Julius were met by Jackson. "Been a long time, Julius." Jackson had always been stylish. Right now he was styled in the mold of Blade, but wearing one of his favoured double breasted suits, gold medallions draped around his neck. As normal, he was flanked by two of the Bloods, armed in similar manner to the others. "In private, please?" Julius requested. Jackson nodded, leading the way to his office, before dismissing the gang members, who flanked the outer door. The couple entered, Jackson closing the door behind them. "Every time I see you man, there's always trouble." Jackson shook his head. Julius shrugged. "And this time, you acting like a man who's looking for trouble." Julius shrugged again, "Is everything set up?" he asked. "Yeah man, streets are clear. Bloods know what to do."

"Good," replied Julius, "and so do you." Julius offered his wrist. "Fuck you man." Jackson snarled, complying nonetheless with his Regent's command. "It's not often I intrude on your operation, Kevin." replied Julius mildly. "And don't forget the military grade stuff I supply to you. It could be a lot worse." This time it was Jackson's turn to shrug, "So, you here for your box?" he asked. Julius nodded. Jackson nodded to Eveshka, "Who's your new squeeze Julius?" He smirked, leering. Eveshka bristled, "I am the Boyarina Eveshka Semenovna Shuvolov. Comtesse De Touraine and nobody's... squeeze."

"Shut it Jackson, get me the damned box." Snapped Julius. "Just ignore him, Eve, he's just winding you up." Eveshka glowered, as Jackson chuckled and went to open his safe. "It's in there, and no, I ain't looked inside it."

"All the better for you, Kevin." said Julius muttering something in hermetic latin as he retrieved the box. Julius looked inside and nodded. "We'll be leaving now."

Right on cue, an alarm began to sound. Jackson whirled, "I knew you was here to cause trouble." He accused Julius. "No, I just wanted my box, you should be glad, I'm taking it away." He reached into his pocket and withdrew some kind of radio. "All units, phase 3, GO GO GO!"
Cabrini Green was in turmoil. As if from nowhere, well armed men had appeared and a raging battle occupied the streets. On one side, the Bloods, reinforced by the local Hell's Angels defended Jacksons haven against what appeared to be a rival gang. The Bloods knew well enough what Jackson was, but nevertheless the sudden appearance of this gang had unsettled them. They were used to fighting mortals, not kindred who appeared and disappeared, moving soundlessly amongst them.

The battle raged on, casualties falling on both sides, a hail of bullets streaking through the air. The Bloods had the benefit of numbers, but the enemy had the benefit of kindred powers.

"What the fuck is in that box?" Yelled Jackson, as explosions were heard from outside. "No, wait, I don't even wanna know. Get the hell out of here."

"No argument here." Replied Julius, then spoke into his radio, "Brother, time to tip the balance."

Outside, the Bloods were cheered by the apparent use of advanced flamethrowers from windows higher up in the building. Julius' preparations were well made and House Tremere had been invited to the party. The invaders began to be driven back.

Inside, Julius, Eveshka and Jackson headed towards the van, waiting in the underground garage. They arrived to find Barry fighting and losing badly, with four Assamites, who somehow had worked their way into the complex. Eveshka drew her blades, hurrying to his assistance, as Julius casually toasted one. Eveshka became a whirl of flashing blades, each cut driving the assamites further back, the fear in their eyes growing greater for every touch of the black shining weapons. One fell to the ground, the other two running for their lives.

Outside the remaining "rival gang members" made a rush for the entrance to the underground garage. Framed in the entrance, they charged in. Eveshka snarled and set herself for another battle, but Julius smiled and took her hand. Together they began to chant in Hermetic Latin, Eveshka following Julius' lead. An almighty fireball flew from them, towards the gathered enemy, killing a few and scattering the rest. "Into the van." Snapped Julius, diving through the side door, followed swiftly by Eveshka. "Spanner, hit it!"

The black van screeched out of the garage into a scene more like Beirut than Chicago. The Bloods were mopping up the stragglers, or at least those who hadn't simply disappeared once again into the night. Spanner put his foot to the floor and headed toward the airport.

"They won't try that again in a hurry." Grinned Julius, "We knocked the stuffing out of them." Eveshka was shaking, "I HATE THIS, I HATE THIS!" For answer, Julius simply put his arms around her and held her for a while. "I know, love." He said, eventually. "But if all you believe about this scroll is true, then it needs to be people like us who unlock it. It seems to be the way of the world that those who least want a thing, are the ones who must bear it's burden. We don't choose, we are chosen."

"That's not very comforting." Replied Eveshka in a small voice. "No, it isn't. The only comfort I can give is this. We will unlock this scroll and we will see an ending. Maybe then you'll get that peace you so long for."

"I hope so, Julius." Eveshka replied, burying her face in his shoulder.

[b:13e1e288c7]Eveshka[/b:13e1e288c7]

[i:13e1e288c7]June 12th at the Aerodrome de Tours, approximately 1 week later[/i:13e1e288c7]

She was home. Well, as much of a home as she could call it. She had lived in and around Touraine for nearly two centuries. The happiest time of her unlife was when she held court at the Chateau de Chenonceau in the early 16th century. Back then she was known as Diane de Poitiers, courtesan of King Henry II. Tours had been a bustling merchant town centered on a Royal Chateau along the banks of the Loire. Before that, it had been known as Caesarodunum, and was a Roman outpost. Much of the area around the old chateau and the Cathedral is built upon these ruins. Julius and she sat in the back of the white stretch limo as it drove around the periphery of Tours du Nord. Crossing the Loire River they headed around St. Pierre de Corps and down into Joue de Tours.

The limo drove south-west on the road winding through remnants of old forest, through vineyards, and across farm fields still being planted by night. Down through Azay le Rideau. Each place had a meaning to Eve. Each curve a memory. Julius sat quietly and watched Eve’s aura change like the northern lights. He was quite enjoying himself. He had never been anywhere remotely like “home” to this mercurial Toreador. He passed her a tumbler of Macallan Scotch, neat. She smiled at him and then went back to looking out the window. Measha lay in a fluffy ball behind Julius’ head, her tail hanging over his left shoulder. The car pulled to a stop outside of the small village of Huims. The driver opened the door for Eve and then took her arm in his own and led her to a glistening white gilded coach upon which were emblazoned the Salamander arms of the Valois Dynasty and the Imperial Double Eagle of the Romanov Dynasty. Footmen wearing the white frock, blue trousers, and black gaiters of the Bourbon era French soldier attended them into the carriage. A team of Lippazzan Stallions, most likely brought over from neighboring Saumur, led the carriage down the gravel lane and into a torchlit area. Riding aside the carriage was a troop of cuirassiers in tri-corn hats and holding razor sharp sabres.

The scene was something out of a dream. Everything was anachronistic, yet it seemed to meld together perfectly. The coach came around a gentle curve and passed by the manor chapel. The path was lined with white frocked, Charlesville wielding, soldiers. The coach pulled under the archway and into the main courtyard of Usse. A full orchestra played the Rejounaissance, from Handel’s Royal Fireworks Music, on the broad balcony overlooking the central courtyard. The coach rocked to a stop and a footman opened the door with a deferential bow. Out stepped the Comtesse de Touraine and, as far as everyone else was concerned, her consort. Julius looked around with a broad grin on his face. Even HE was taken aback by the splendour and pomp of a peaceful installation of a Toreador Prince. An honor guard came forwards and led them to a door flanked by a white flag bearing the Imperial Russian Eagle, and a blue flag bearing the cypher of Henri II de Valois. Over the arched entranceway hung a crimson banner with a stylized Toreador rose upon it.

The evening was filled with the drawn out artsy babble of countless new age Toreador, a short and to the point speech of a rather harsh looking Gangrel named Marcel, lots of dancing, a fine display of the leading Toreador pets of the area, and a complete second act of La Boheme, where Eveshka was rather easily convinced to sing the part of Mimi.
All in all, it was a wonderful night. Aside from the fact that some annoying Toreador whelp kept on calling Julius, “Julie baby,” even Julius had a fine time. It merely took Julius a few moments to explain to this idiotic young torrie that he was to be addressed by this idiotic torrie as “Julius,”or “Sire,”and that if he insisted on calling him “Julie baby” anymore, “Julie baby” would use him for pipe tobacco.

As the night turned to morning, Eveshka and Julius made their way to her bedchamber. She walked in and flopped face first onto the bed and just sat there a moment before rolling onto her side as Measha came zipping into the room. Julius shooed Measha off the bed as the two vampires began their nightly ritual of lovemaking. Several hours into it, Eveshka’s attention turned from Julius to Measha who was acting sort of odd. She seemed to be looking up at a spot in the corner and uttering low growls. Julius felt Eve’s attention lapse nearly immediately. “What is it?” he asked. Eve didn’t look at him when she spoke, but looked up in the area where Measha was looking with her Heightened Senses activated. “There is something up there, but I don’t see anything.”

Julius rolled off of her and walked over to where Measha sat. Eve sat up, her hair tosseled every which way. “I think there is a pinhole camera up there,” said Julius finally. “But I can’t tell for sure. Measha must have seen a twinkle of a reflection out of the corner of her eye. I sure as hell can’t see anything.”

Eve lay back down on the bed and released a psychic projection and went right into the wall. There it was. She could see a small box behind her bedroom wall, way up at the top near the molding. “I suppose it is for security reasons?” Eve said as she released the projection and came back to herself.

“It could be I suppose, but I don’t feel comfortable on camera, Doll,” said Julius. “If it were me, I’d want to pick my own living arrangements out, not have them picked for me.”

Eveshka nodded. “I had already thought of that. Well, perhaps we’ll go shopping soon.”

“We should be fine for a while though, Love, everyone knows you are here, unless it is the Inner Circle itself trying to do away with us, we’re pretty well protected for now. But I will feel better having you in your own place when I leave,” said Julius.

Eve looked at him with puppy dog eyes.

“Now Eve,” started Julius. “I cannot be kept locked up here, you know that. I’ve got work to do for Meerlinda. You’re a big girl,” he said smirking, as he started to kiss her smooth, flat belly, blazing a trail of saliva with his lips down to her Passion.

[b:6e2bebb0f1]Julius[/b:6e2bebb0f1]

"So, just to be clear on this one," explained Julius to the frog sat before him. "My name is Julius. Not Jules, Julie babe, or any other variation your ephemeral little minds can conjure." The frog croaked apologetically. "I'll consider it." Replied the wizard, watching with amusement as Measha slipped into the room, apparently in the mood to stalk any amphibians who might be in the area. The frog croaked nervously. Julius shrugged, "It usually wears off after an hour or so, it all depends really." From the shadows of the room, Measha sprang, gracefully flying through the air to the exact spot where the frog had been. Choosing not to be catfood, the frog had also jumped, flying through the air, to land on the head of the radiant Toreador Prince as she entered the room. Measha sat where the frog had been, cleaning herself with that typically feline look which told that she hadn't really meant to catch the frog at all.

"Julius," Began an unimpressed and toe tapping Eveshka, "Why is there a frog on my head?" Julius grimaced, suppressing the laughter that threatened to burst forth at the comic scene. "Piff Paff Poof!" He gestured, and one of the gaggle of young Toreador stood in front of her Prince. Julius smiled on of his most disarming smiles. "I quote, 'Magic is nothing but fairytale stuff, Jules, so don't think you can scare us'"

Now it was Eveshka's turn to hide the smirk, she turned to the hapless childe, "I hope you've learned a valuable lesson!" She chided. "Yes.. Yes Sire." Came the reply. "Julius, will her skin return to it's normal colour?"

"She is still looking a bit green around the gills, isn't she? I imagine a good wash, with a stout scrubbing brush will clean her up." The unfortunate Toreador paled and sighed. "Was there anything else?" Eveshka asked, "No Sire, with your permission.." Eveshka nodded and the childe started walking away, pausing briefly to shoot her tongue out to catch a passing fly. She screamed and ran for it. Julius looked at Eve, who looked back, lips trembling, unable to contain themselves any longer the two burst into uncontrollable laughter. "She will be ok, won't she?" Asked Eve when she could finally get a word in. "Oh yeah," replied the unrepentant magus. "It will only last until sunrise. I hope she likes eating bugs! Now then, I've got something to show you."

Julius led the way into the room he had "commandeered" as his study. The scroll of Shal Ka-Mense was spread out on the desk, next to a well worn skull. "Look at that sigil," he pointed. "What is it?" Asked Eveshka. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, it is Mercurian."

"Mercurian?" Asked Eveshka. Julius nodded, "The Order of Mercury, forerunner of the Order of Hermes, though it is quite possible it didn't die out completely. We know the language is some form of farsi, encrypted with some kind of cypher. It could be that the cypher is Mercurian in origin." Eveshka nodded, "So how do we find that out?" Julius tapped the skull, "Online" it said in the leaden tones of the dead. "I have reason to believe," Julius began, "that there is more to this skull than I once thought. If my suspicions are correct, it could be a useful source of information. I need to do more work." Eveshka nodded. "I'll leave you to it then, love. I have to go be Prince for a while."

[b:364bc822e6]Eveshka[/b:364bc822e6]

[i:364bc822e6]Several weeks later in La Comtesse’s “Throne” Room[/i:364bc822e6]

Julius had left her to her business. Really, there was only so much hedonistic pleasure a tremere playboy could take, even with a legendary beauty as Eveshka. He was afterall, Tremere. He left the week before, on the pretext that he was going to Vienna to the archives. He told her that he could most likely get more information on the scroll cypher there. That was all well and good, and even had a degree of truth to it, but Eveshka knew that at heart he was sick of the court of Toreadors. She sat there at her desk nodding, smiling, grunting, and raising her eyebrows at all the right places as this young Toreador babbled inanely about some artistic crap, that even SHE felt was inane artistic crap. She had no clue where this was going. None at all. She had delightful visions of opening her delicate hands and speaking some words of Hermitic Latin to conjur a fire to emolate this blithering French idiot. Christ Allmighty what was becoming of her beloved Clan? They sit and stare at blobs of colour or coo some senseless bits of clever verse thinking it passes for art and lament the loss of their souls? This had to change.

Shaking her head slightly she looked up at the moron who stood before her in crimson velvet with blood tears streaming down his face. “Is there a point coming any time soon, Ramon,” she asked, all pretense of congeniality vanishing from her face.

“Renard,” he corrected.

“Whatever,” she replied.

He took a rather effiminate step back words and pursed his lips. “My dear Comtesse, if you cannot comprehend my point then I shall remove myself from your presence.” He turned without a “by your leave” and strutted pompously towards the huge gilded doors. The other half dozen Courtiers and Courtesans moved about uncomfortably. Renard fancied himself a genius and had always felt himself immune to authority. That was fine when there was only a tangential agent from Prince Renee staying here while she was off in Paris. The truth was, there had been little order in Touraine and it had degraded into nothing more than a whorehouse. There was no trail blazing into new genres of art, there was no preservation of old styles, no innovation… nothing. And this ass, who had proclaimed himself the Harpy of Touraine, did not like it that he had been overlooked as a nuisance since Eve had arrived.

“Ramon,” she said calmly. “I don’t recall giving you leave to go.”

All eyes moved to Renard who had stopped halfway out the doors. He turned with a wicked smile upon his face. “Sire,” he said, knowing that the Comtesse detested all vampiric titles of a male origin. “Sire, if I offend you, I shall bother you no more.”

All eyes moved back to Eveshka, who stood up and walked around from behind her oppulent desk. All here had heard tales of her temper, but none had witnessed it. In fact, they had started to think that Renard would continue in his ways and would remain the real power of Touraine. He had after all gotten rather rude to the Comtesse several times, and the most severe thing she had done so far was to politely suggest that he behave himself lest he be rebuked. She heard that he had proclaimed loudly that would welcome her rebuke as such, then there could be a test of wills. Having been reared during the Terror of Robespierre and survived to grow to some provincial prominence, he felt that he could easily handle this fossil who had hidden herself from real responsibility for most of her unlife.

“Ramon,” she said again. “You would do well to learn a few manners. I beg you not continue in this behavior.”

Renard looked at her and said, “I would love for you to try to teach me some manners. But I would doubt that I could learn anything from you. Perhaps you should just end me, Sire,” he said with a mock bow. He looked up at her and saw her aura change to ….. he couldn’t really tell, it flashed slightly with looked like rage but went to complete calm so fast he wasn’t sure if he had been seeing things.

“Exercise my right of destruction? Is that what you are tempting me with,” asked Eveshka walking closer to Renard, who defiantly stood his ground having never been taken to task before.

“That is your option of course. SIRE,” he said happily thinking he was getting the better of her.

Eveshka walked up to him exuding her Majesty, to all but Renard that is. To everyone else she looked like an angel from Heaven, to Renard, who alone saw her aura change from peaceful and content to a murderous rage, she looked suddenly like a succubus from the pits of Hell. “So be it,” she said, taking hold of his hand in hers. “This was your choice Renard. I did not want this.” Those were the last words he heard before his world was filled with nothing but the sound of his own screams as Eveshka activated Cauldron of Blood and burned him from the inside out. At this, her Majesty wore off and the Courtiers and Courtesans recoiled in horror. They saw her aura change to deep sadness as she released his hand, for that was all that was left of him. She turned around and moved sullenly to her desk and sat down. Montcalm, a man in a royal blue 18th century brocade military style frock and a small sword slung at his waist moved to her and placed his white gloved hand upon her shoulder and merely stated, “You gave him every chance My Lady. None here would question your actions.” White whigged attendants came with dustpans and brushes to clean up the mess.

She touched his hand and smiled up at him. Her eyes looked over to the map of France that was spread upon her desk. “Where were the last reports of the Kabal, Montcalm,” she asked.

“There were some inroads made around Chinon, but they were quickly despatched. It seems that the main force is far to the north in Normandie.”

“So, nobody knows anything,” she asked.

Montcalm looked at her a moment before answering, “No My Lady. Prince Renee has had all manners of fighting in and around the Northern Suburbs of Paris, but thus far she has contained it well. Madame Guil herself is in Paris with several other Justicars. These… Kabal…. seem to be contained in Normandie, which is evidently becoming rather unstable.”

Eveshka nodded and looked at the paper that spoke of Terrorist activity in and around Rouen. The French government, with some strong influence from Renee, Eveshka, and the other French Princes, had said that they were Basque Separatists backed by Algerian Muslim Fundamentalists.

“Poor Prince du-Lac,” said Eve. “He never did have a grasp on information networks.” She lapsed into silence looking over in the display case that held all manners of historical arms and armor. Her eyes fell on the Scimitars with the mark of Set. “Any word from Julius,” she asked. Montcalm silently shook his head no. “Well then my Dear Marquis de Montcalm, shall we adjurn to the ball room and meet the party already in session?”

Montcalm bowed formally and held out his hand to take her to the Ballroom. They walked a bit and could hear the strains of violins playing a magnificent Viennese Waltz.

[i:364bc822e6]Meanwhile, half a world away on the shores of Antioch, a waltz of a different sort was being performed.[/i:364bc822e6]

Black clad figures moved silently up the face of the cliff towards the old catacombs, abandoned since the 2nd crusade. These figures would have been the envy of any Special Forces outfit anywhere in the world. They wore black utility fatigues, American issue combat boots, and kevlar helmets. Had there been anyone to witness them, they’d have noted that any skin that was visible was ebony coloured. These were all Assamite elders and they were searching for something………

[b:65b4b0bc72]Julius[/b:65b4b0bc72]

[i:65b4b0bc72]Vienna, Domus Magna of House and Clan Tremere.[/i:65b4b0bc72]

Much like the Vatican Library, so too did the library of House and Clan Tremere have many levels. The first and easiest to access was a simple occult library, part of the front to the secrets of the chantry and a place to which kindred and kine had free and easy access. Peel away that layer and one finds a library of true magical works, studied routinely by the Apprentices of House Tremere and very occasionally, by a much favoured mortal, though such a one is doubtless a prospect for "full membership". Go beyond this and find the restricted section, to which only the most senior apprentices have access, perhaps requiring the permission of their elders. Delve further again and you are in the most secret sections, where Apprentices never tread and the librarian is himself a Tremere Lord. Finally, within this temperature controlled, humidity regulated labyrinth of rooms and passages, one comes to a chamber. A simple door bars entry, yet woe to those who would try to enter unbidden, or without the proper talisman.

Within this room one could find such secrets. The oldest records of House Tremere, of how they came to be kindred, taking down the order of Hermes by subverting the other houses from within. House Flambeau, embraced into the clan, or burnt under the flame of their own fire. House Quaesitor, universally destroyed, to make way for Tremere's own chosen. House Criamon, their search for the "enigma" lost, save perhaps in some Malkavian nightmare. House Bonisagus, easily removed as they sat in their smug complacency. Further back, this was perhaps the only library with true documentation of the history of the Order of Hermes, the only place where one might truly learn the fate of House Diedne, destroyed by the Order when House Tremere were yet kine. Voluntas vincet omnia, was the motto of House Tremere then and held true today.

In this room, surrounded by the most ancient and valuable of Hermetic texts, sat Julius Darrant, 3rd Circle Pontifex of House and Clan Tremere, yet the books he was reading were not of Hermetic Origin. The books of today's study predated Tremere, written even before Bonisagus founded the Order of Hermes. These were the oldest of all the texts contained within the library, containing forbidden knowledge of the oldest roots of House Tremere, the Order of Hermes and all that had come from it. The Cult of Mercury was ancient, stretching back to the formation of the Roman empire, groups of priests performing elaborate rituals, to create their magic. The origin of Hermetic Ritual and ultimately, thaumaturgy. Yet for all the knowledge contained therein, Julius was having no luck. The sigil he had so convincingly pronounced as Mercurian was simply not present in any of these works, vague similarities were present, but it was clear he had been mistaken. Julius leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, sighing somewhat frustratedly.

"The great Julius Darrant, defeated by a book?" Came a silky feminine voice. Julius looked up, "Councillor." He acknowledged. The councillor raised an eyebrow, looking around the room, "So formal, Julius? I can't see any apprentices to impress."

"It's good to see you again, Meer." replied Julius with a smile for his sponsor. Of all within his Clan, it was perhaps Councillor Meerlinda he trusted the most. The secret head of the transitionalist order, it was her manipulation that had gained Julius his high rank in such a relatively short time. "You too, Julius. How was France?" Julius furrowed his brow, "How did you know I wa..." He chuckled, "It's ok, don't bother to answer that." Meerlinda flashed a grin. "That pretty Toreador keep you entertained, did she?" Meerlinda's deep blue eyes glinted from beneath the shimmering blonde hair that framed her face. "Well, you know how it is." Replied Julius. "Julius, with you, I'm never entirely sure how it is." Meerlinda stated in a stern voice, "You come and go as you please, trouble follows in your wake and I don't know from one moment to the next quite what your next move will be." Julius put on a hurt, innocent expression. Meerlinda rolled her eyes, "Yes, I know, it's all part of your charm and I have only myself to blame." She smiled indulgently. "My favourite rebel, of all the renegades I've supported over the years, none have been quite so pleasant as you. So tell me, what brings you to our mother house?"

"This stupid scroll." Indicated Julius. "I need to understand it. The dialect seems to be Farsi, but it's encrypted with some kind of cypher. But look at this sigil, my first thought was that it was Mercurian, but..." He gestured to the array of ancient texts, "...I can't find reference to it and if I have to read so much as one more line of ancient greek or latin, I think I'll probably explode." Meerlinda laughed her silvery laugh. "Let me see." She said, reaching for the scroll. "I don't think this is Mercurian, though I can see how you would make the mistake. Rather, I suspect..." Meerlinda pulled a couple of papyrus texts from the shelves. "Hmm.. yes, can you see?" Julius peered at the scrolls. "Meer, it will take me a day to puzzle through so many heiroglyphs and as for this other in heiratic..."

"Well, you should brush up then, for it's quite clear from these texts, that this sigil is related to the Cult of Thoth."

"Cult of Thoth?" Julius groaned. "Do you know how much I loathe the middle east?" Memories of the evils of camels flew through his mind. "Well Julius, if you really want to trace this, you may well have to head out there. What remains of our heritage in that regard is in the chantry in Cairo, beneath the museum. Be on your guard though, Abetorius has likely not forgiven you and the place crawls... or rather slithers. Our presence there is all but under seige. Remember well what I taught you before."

"I remember, Meer. I pray I have no cause to use it. The power is moderately distasteful." Meerlinda nodded. "Nonetheless, you may be forced to exercise it. Now, if you are going to go out there, you might do me the service of producing a report for the council. Abetorius' reports are always... sketchy... at best. Those of us who actually deserve our positions, would truly like some more accurate information." Julius nodded. "I suppose I should return to that Toreador playhouse and tell Eveshka the news."

Voluntas Vincet Omnia - Will Conquers All.

[b:75f1b74553]Morathi[/b:75f1b74553]

A motorcycle pulled up rapidly outside the gate to the estates of Chateau d'Usse, Touraine, France. Its rider was attired in formfitting dark blue and black motorcycle leathers that barely reflected any of the moonlight. Removing her helmet and allowing her raven black hair to tumble free, a pair of green eyes glinted the reflected moonlight like emeralds as she smiled playfully at the gate security that had stepped out to meet her...

[i:75f1b74553]"Ah... Hello... Would you be so kind as to respectfully inform the Comtesse that Ms Lucilla Troy pays her respects and would desire to meet with her at her earliest convienience. I believe she knew my sister Miranda..."[/i:75f1b74553]

A soft English accented voice purred as the rider retrieved two packages from her motorcycle's hard-luggage. One was clearly a finely made white dress that had been carefully packaged to protect it during transport on the motorcycle. The other was a black rose, which she offered to the gatekeeper.

[i:75f1b74553]"A gift for the Comtesse.... I left her one the last time I visited to remember me by when I visited again....."[/i:75f1b74553]

The playful tone crept back into her voice...

[i:75f1b74553]"Sooo.... Do you have a guest room I could borrow to become more respectably attired whilst you present my gift and introduction?.... It would not do for me to meet the Mistress of the Chateau all dusty from the road now would it?...."[/i:75f1b74553]

Morathi smiled, drawing upon her natural charisma the way Eveshka had taught her to encourage the guards to be more inclined towards assisting her. Something in her playful tone also suggesting that she would be prepared to change where she was if need be...

[b:583d756270]Julius[/b:583d756270]

Airborne, somewhere between Paris and Cairo

Julius sat in his smart Darrant Industries Learjet. On the desk in front of him was his skull and a book. The book was a detailed treatise on the conduct of Hermetic Tribunals in the oldest days. In particular, the section he was examining related to the Provence Tribunal and the page he was reading had a picture of a skull upon it. "Intellego Vim" Muttered Julius, making some arcane signs in the general direction of his skull. "Online" It said. Julius swore. He was convinced that his skull and the one in the book were one and the same item, but accessing it's "original programming" was proving to be incredibly difficult. He read through the passage again, the Hermetic Latin roughly translating as "the primus of the tribunal tapped the skull with his staff to retrieve prior precedent." Tapped it with his staff, Julius pondered. If that meant he needed some other item to activate this skull he was truly in trouble, the staff of the Provence Tribunal could be anywhere, if it even still existed. But then, the Primus of a Tribunal could be different every time, being elected from all voting wizards present on a particular... Julius stopped and grinned. Opening his mouth he took a deep breath and spoke, in Hermetic Latin. "Provence Tribunal now in session. Magi present, Julius of House Tremere. Propose Julius of House Tremere as Primus. All in favour?" Julius raised his hand then continued. "I declare Julius of House Tremere Primus of the Provence Tribunal for this session." Julius removed his sigil from around his neck and tapped the skull with it. "Articles of the Provence Tribunal, archive online." Said the skull, it's deathly tones now speaking in Hermetic Latin.

Julius smiled, turning to a list he had prepared of similar devices from other Tribunals. "Report status of interface with the following:" he began, reading through the list.

As his Learjet was on final approach to Cairo Airport, Julius gave final instruction to the skull. "Interface with archives from Tribunal of Thebes and Tribunal of the Levant. Correlate all references to cyphers used by Cult of Thoth." The skull's eye sockets flashed, "Working." It said.

[b:8947a6c4c5]Julius[/b:8947a6c4c5]

Cairo, that miasma of Arab and African culture, stirred together with the ancient heritage of this land, creating an atmosphere utterly unique, whilst at the same time, remarkably similar to other cities across the region. That mish mash of old and new, the sunglasséd rich with their Mercedes and BMW's vying for road space with the more ancient vehicles. Occasional animal drawn wagons passed along the roads and even in this metropolis camels were everywhere. Great altar of the tourist trade, a camel was a reasonable living for an Egyptian, $5 would buy a photograph of the camel, $20 a ride on it's back. Julius passed many such on his way to the museum and it seemed as if each one knew him. Malkavians have their madness network, Nosferatu pass their knowledge one to another and it seemed that camels also had some strange way to communicate. In their eyes Julius could see recognition, in his heart he knew that each camel was waiting, biding it's time until it could kick him, bite him, spit at him, or in some other way, perform an act of camel barbarism upon his person. Of all creatures upon the earth, the ones he could not abide, were camels. He hurried swiftly past, towards the museum.

By the time of his arrival the museum had shut for the evening. Julius looked about for the signs, which, to the initiated, would indicate the way to the front door of the areas he was most interested in. None were obviously apparent, indeed it wasn't until he cast a subtle detect magic spell that he could see the signs at all. Faded, unmaintained and barely visible, when they should have been obvious to any Tremere, with no effort at all. This was not a good sign. He headed slowly to the apparently seldom used side door. He traced a symbol on the door and knocked 3 times, as was the custom. Nothing happened. Julius frowned, this was not what he expected from a chantry of House and Clan Tremere. He knocked again. Finally a window opened in the door, a hooded face, scarcely visible in the shadowed corridor beyond peered through it, "Whaat.. what, what do you want?"

"I seek entry" Replied Julius. "The museum is closed" came the sharp retort as the window slammed shut. Julius knocked again, his patience wearing thin. Once again the window opened, but this time, the face behind the window was illuminated by magelight issuing from the palm of Julius' hand. Their eyes met and the weak will of the doorkeeper was easily subsumed beneath the power of Julius' dominance. The door opened and Julius entered a dark corridor. By the glow of his magelight, he could see a damp stone floor, puddles of water here and there along it's length. The beautifully painted wall plaster had seen better days, chunks missing in places and where it was still intact, the paint flaked and crumbling. Spots of mould were appearing on the ceiling and the occasional drip, drip of water could be heard within. Julius wrinkled his nose at the damp oppressive smell of decay and turned to the doorkeeper. "Take me to the Regent." He ordered perfunctorily.

[b:35eed022b6]Morathi[/b:35eed022b6]

Having managed to use the threat of causing a scandal on the doorstep to playfully bully the Gate security into letting her use a guest bedroom to freshen up from her travel, Morathi did a cursory sweep of the room with an astral projection. As she suspected there were a few cameras and listening devices scattered about, so those responsible for the Chateau's security could monitor their surprise guest.

Entering the bathroom and noting the tasteful blend of modern comforts with the original Chateau's decor, she focussed her attention on the new structures, gently calling upon the path of the levinbolt to convert a minute amount of vitae into a surge of natural static electricity that she released into the shower's door frame. Smiling with amusement as she heard a soft 'Pop' whilst the hidden camera in the frame burnt out, she respected the need for security but she prefered to enjoy her bathing unwatched for now, she already had an audience within to cater to and pamper.

The voice had been sulking ever since its recent brief taste of a winter's day and now she would treat it to the feel of a nice relaxing shower. At first it had felt strange sharing her body with the spirit within her new heart, especially as she suspected the voice was originally male once upon a time, but now it was like living with an invisible lover, its appetites for the sensations it had been denied within its crystalline prison were great, but the spirit had to respect the whims and needs of its host as well. This lead to the occasional internal spat when indulgence had to be balanced with performing her duty, but a balance had ultimately been attained for the timebeing...

Unzipping her Motorcycle leathers, and peeling the form hugging armoured material from her body, she stepped into the shower and proceeded to wash the dust from the road and the scent of high performance oils, petrol and supple leather from her hair and body, replacing them with the sent of cherry blossom as she used the provided shower gel. Her hands gently washing and massaging her body, feeling the spirit within savouring the wamth of the water, the sensations of skin caressing skin, recalling the feel of sensations her own vampiric body had started to forget as memories of her own brief mortality had faded with age. Thus, in indulging the spirit, she was in a way also reviving experiences from her own lost mortality.

Finally sating the spirit's desires for the timebeing, Morathi stepped gracefully from the shower, towelling her body and hair dry and dressing in her ankle length white dress, she moved back into the main guest area of her room and proceeded to finish drying her raven-black hair and brushing back into a tidy state, completing the transformation from leather clad biker into the graceful and refined operatic singer Lucilla Troy...

Whilst awaiting La Comtesse’s answer to her request for an audiance, Morathi browsed the room's bookshelf and was pleased to find an early edition of Joyce's 'Ulysses', proceeding to spend time waiting by reading it aloud for her unseen audiences within and without...

[b:05cab36dd6]Eveshka[/b:05cab36dd6]

August…. The Cascadia Elysium

The west wing of the old Royal Palace of Prince Rhiannon was not used much anymore. Having been designed by Eveshka herself, it was still the most beautiful part of the complex, but with the advent of Prince Valek and the demise of the powers of “light,” it had grown into disrepair. Now just the central Elysium was used, and even then only for major court functions. Yet, the west wing still held the old archives left there since the Garou attack that took down the Toreador regime. It also had the security measures in place, not that anyone really payed them much attention anymore. This was why it took Gabriel’s security team a minute to figure out just what the little flashing red light next to his mug of coffee meant.

“What the hell?” said the man as he looked at the monitor and saw a shadow moving among the dusty display cases. He picked up his headset that was sitting on the desk next to the novel he was reading. “Station 4 to central, I’ve got an alarm in the old throne room, going to check it out.”

“ Copy, Four, report in when you ascertain the source of the alarm. .”

“Roger.”

Four got up and headed down the hall to the old Throne Room. He tried the door and found it to be locked. He rooted though an assortment of keys until he found the correct one and unlocked the graceful double doors leading to the main receiving room. The moon shone through the skylight, dimly lighting the room with an eerie blue light. He turned on his flashlight and looked for the main light switch. He had never been in this room before, he was one of Gabriel’s newer hires. He finally found the light switch only to discover that it did not work. From off in the far corner he heard a slight noise that sounded like steel being drawn. His instincts finally told him that something was wrong. Unfortunately for him, that was a mere heartbeat before his head was severed from his body. He didn’t even scream.

Ten minutes later, after he failed to report in, several more armed guards came to investigate. They swept the area with flashlights and with closed circuit video cameras so as to negate any vampires using obfuscate or the like. They found nothing. They moved back into the former Harpy’s office where a portrait of Rhiannon, Ivy, and Eveshka still hanged.

“Got him,” whispered one of the video carrying guards. And so he did. There on the minute LCD screen was a man standing completely still next to a suit of armor: a man who could not be seen with the naked eye. The guard with the video moved out of the room as if he did not see the man. When the guards had reached the main receiving room again, they called for back up. A few moments later many more armed men came running with Gabriel at the head. They moved into Eveshka’s former office to find a figure all dressed in black rifling through documents and files. He looked up almost instantly.

“Don’t move,” said Gabriel softly. The man did not obey the command. With blinding speed he ran towards the corner of the room and appeared to run up the wall to the ceiling above. With a crash, the man disappeared up through the skylight and off into the night. All of this took place in the time it took Gabriel to move his hand to his shoulder holster and start to draw his pistol.

Gabriel walked over to the still open file cabinet and found what looked like photo copies of an old papyrus scroll with notes written on it in immaculate and very feminine looking hand writing. He continued to leaf through the files and found a few mentions of one Dr. Mulah Malik of the Sorbonne in Paris. On one of the copies, the note taker had circled some of the odd runic scribbling and had written (in a different hand than the flowery handwriting) various different characters of a similar nature equal to the number of characters on the original. It almost seemed as if the note taker were experimenting with potential evolution of the script. The last one looked almost like modern Arabic. Right below that, written in English, were the words. Shal-Ka-Mense.

[b:500e5fd326]Gabriel[/b:500e5fd326]

"What's this? Shall commence? Nicely spelled, probably written by some illiterate Brujah." the Ventrue neonate's bland attempt at humor fell flat as Gabriel and Noshad continued to analyze the various papers pulled from the cabinet. Finally, Gabriel glanced up, his green eyes flickering with specks of red, a direct result of the immense portions of blood he had consumed in order to stay up through the daytime.

"I'm sorry, what was that Philippe? I had completely forgotten you were still here." he said flatly. Philippe, had he the bodily functions, would have flushed red at the insult. A mere grimace sufficed, and the neonate skulked from the room, leaving the Seneschal and his assistant to their work.

The laboratory glistened with freshly polished metal and the sterile gleam of highly shone glass. After the initial investigation of the palace's west wing had failed to provide any leads, the trounced Seneschal had retreated to the crime lab of the local police station. Gabriel had only just begun to dig his talons into the mortal hierarchy of the city, but what he had procured served him well. Mishandling of evidence in the crime lab by several "friends" had helped more than it's fair share of reckless neonates out of a jam, and even a few sloppy Elders had relied on Gabriel's contacts for assistance.

Gabriel rubbed his eyes warily and leaned back against the cool steel of the counter. His blonde hair hung limply over the shoulder of his red, woolen turtle neck. Porcylen skin clung to his tight, Nordic features and did not falter even as he drew his face into a calculated scowl. The thought of an intruder so brazenly defiling the Prince's palace turned his stomach. But who did he have to blame but himself? It was he who had allowed security to become so lax. Kindred entered and did as they pleased in Cascadia with none to appose them. The Prince, a blatant Baali follower, was intimidating, but rarely stepped out from his throne to enforce Traditions.

"It's more than I can stand at times." he whispered, running his hands through his hair with frustration.

"I'm sorry" Noshad Jerrahi glanced up from one of the parchments. The young Ventrue had proved invaluable to Gabriel on a number of occasions and thankfully had yet to realize his worth. A strong proud nose centralized his face and drew all of his other features together. He was handsome and youthful, the curse of Caine had done little to diminish his superficial qualities. Thick, black hair crowned his head, and was cropped short. Gabriel shook his head.

"Nothing. So what do you make of it?"

Noshad shrugged, joining Gabriel against the counter, several parchments in hand.

"Well, it's tough to say. It's definately Farsi, but some are older dialects that I've not quite familiar with. Vague references to Iran, Egypt, and assassins..." Noshad flipped through the papers.

"Assassins?" Gabriel repeated inquisitively.

"Yeah, but what's really strange..." he shuffled through some of the papers, producing a few of the fresher looking documents. "...is this."

Gabriel glanced at the writing, which to his ignorant eye looked like simple enough Farsi to him.

"What's it say?"

"That's just it....I've no clue. It's as if the author has introduced new characters into the writings." Noshad sighed and tossed the papers back onto the desk in front of them. Gabriel gathered the papers into his dusty brown travel-bag and the two Ventrue set out through the hallways of the crime lab, emerging into the dim light of the waning moon.

A limousine sat at the curb, it's engine purring softly as it awaited it's owner. As he went about setting his things in the backseat of the car, he motioned Noshad closer.

"I need you to find this Mulah Malik for me. Dig up what you can on him and report back to me. Don't get too close." Noshad seemed mildly taken aback, but soon regained his composure.

"With all due respect Seneschal O'Brien, I have matters here that need to be addres..."

"They've been taken care of Noshad." Gabriel replied, at last turned and clasping the youth on the shoulders. He smiled broadly, his sparkling smile containing something sinister beneath it....something that screamed predator. The young Persian Ventrue wondered if Gabriel meant for him to notice that quality or not. "I'll meet you at your apartment this evening with all the necessary details of your trip."

**********

Gabriel had been true to his word and arrived at Noshad's apartment in the early hours of the morning. But to Noshad's surprise, the Ventrue Ancillae had come fully packed and ready for travel. Prior business engagements had drawn the Seneschal to Paris conveniently enough, and although it was obviously a lie, Noshad decided it best not to question it.

Within the hour the pair was sprinting up the tarmac under a star riddled sky towards a private jet. As they stepped onto the plane, Noshad cupped his ears from the high pitch whine of the engines and wondered just what he had gotten himself into.

Gabriel smiled at the apprehension the boy had shown in traveling with him, appreciating the degree of caution Noshad exercised even with a known ally. As the jet lurched forward, Gabriel shut his eyes and prepared to catch up on lost rest and to prepare his mind and body for the tasks that lay ahead in Paris....

[b:4a6c7a13c0]Julius[/b:4a6c7a13c0]

[i:4a6c7a13c0]Below the Cairo Museum[/i:4a6c7a13c0]

The hooded figure led the way through the dank corridor into a darkened room. Within the room, several figures chanted, their arms moving in mystical gestures. Julius could sense magical currents forming in the room, some ritual was on the verge of completion. As he moved further into the room, the chanting abruptly came to a halt, the lead figure banging the ground with his staff, signalling the end to the ceremony.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with light. Julius stood in a medium sized storeroom. Various exhibits and packing cases were strewn haphazardly about the room, covered with dust. The light came from flourescent tubes, suspended from the ceiling, some of them flickering and wavering, their fittings carrying more dust than the items stored on the floor. Julius walked slowly towards the hooded figure who had led the ritual. A familiar voice came from the shadowed face, "Ah, Pontifex Darrant, so good of you to join us." it said, as the figure pointed his staff toward the floor at Julius feet. Julius opened his mouth to reply, some scathing comment about the state of the chantry, yet no words came from his mouth. As his magical powers began to drain away, perhaps for the first time in his unlife, Julius knew fear. He turned to run, yet the paralysis which held his tongue now held his feet.

The leader of the ritual approached and drew back his hood. "Did you think I had forgotten, whelp?" Snarled Abetorius. "You should not have returned to my domain. A Tremere magus, kindred, yet still able to use the ancient forms and techniques. I think it is time we found out what makes you tick, yes?"

Julius closed his eyes, gathering what little of his will and abilities remained, focussing himself for one last spell. He looked up to the roof, opened his mouth and with every fibre of his being, screamed one word. "EVESHKA!"

[b:b36d5ae8a4]Morathi[/b:b36d5ae8a4]

Morathi glided softly through the hall of the Chateau, guided by the sound of music. Music that was very familiar to her. Finding the Music Room, She paused seeing the face that had haunted her dreams on many occasions since they had left on separate paths from York so long ago. She had only visited Eveshka once in the intervening time, but had not disturbed her from her torpor...

[i:b36d5ae8a4]"There was a time when men were kind...
When their voices were soft.. And their words inviting
There was a time when love was blind
And the world was a song... And the song was exciting
There was a time.... Then it all went wrong....

I dreamed a dream in times gone by...
When hope was high.. and life worth living...
I dreamed that love would never die.
I dreamed that God would be forgiving....
Then I was young and unafraid.
And dreams were made and used and wasted...
There was no ransom to be paid.
No song unsung, no wine untasted..."[/i:b36d5ae8a4]


The music was from 'Les Miserables' it was from the scene where Fantine had been abandoned by her lover and left unemployed and destitute, it was a song that had started with hope in the future... Hope that was to be dashed by fate...

[i:b36d5ae8a4]"But the tigers come at night.... With their voices soft as thunder...
As they tear your hope apart, and they turn your dream to shame..."[/i:b36d5ae8a4]

Morathi glided to join her mentor, softly adding her own voice to Eveshka's as way of introducing her presence whilst they sang the conclusion together in duet much in the same way they had when they had really met for the first time, but this time Morathi's voice calling upon her own sorrowful experiences to emote the grief Fantine felt the way she had been taught...

[i:b36d5ae8a4]"He slept a summer by my side, he filled my days with endless wonder..
He took my childhood in his stride.... But he was gone when autumn came...
And still I dream he'll come to me.... that we'll live the years together...
But there are dreams that cannot be...
And there are storms we cannot weather...

I had a dream my life would be....
So much different from this hell I'm living....
So different now from what it seemed...
Now life has killed...
The dream... I dreamed..."[/i:b36d5ae8a4]

The last note hung on the air with the resonance of the voices blended in duet. Finally Morathi spoke, a slight hint of the song's sorrow in her voice...

"You remembered it too... The night that we first met..."

Morathi's reunion with her mentor was to be abruptly disrupted as Eveshka suddenly looked distantly away from the sheets of music and whispered a name... A name whose import was equally significant to herself as it was to Eveshka, but for different reasons, those of bonds of blood and loyalty to her house and clan...

[i:b36d5ae8a4]"Julius..."[/i:b36d5ae8a4]

[b:7cf94ca289]Julius[/b:7cf94ca289]

Julius lay immobile on the hard table, light shining in his face, his skin tingling. Around him he could hear the sounds of chanting and he could feel magical currents passing around and through him. The arcane chanting slowly began to increase in intensity and as it did so, the tingling became pain, increasing in depth and penetration in step with the ritual being performed around him. Abruptly the chanting stopped. The sound of a staff being pounded 3 times on the floor was the preface to a great wash of power passing into Julius' body, the agony of it causing his back to arch involuntarily. He tried to scream, yet no sound came from his mouth, as the chanting began anew. Pain upon pain, his nerve endings afire, each muscle wracked with the magnitude of his torment, he writhed upon the slab, impotent, silently screaming his suffering, until finally, he slipped into unconsciousness...

...and awoke to daylight.

Julius stood near a coastal cliff, upon green, wet grass. A light mist obscured the distant, winter bare trees, falling as a light drizzle which made everything damp. Julius shivered with the cold, pulling his coat about him and breathing into his hands to warm them a little. A lone figure stood at the edge of the bluff, staring out over the ocean. Julius walked towards him, grass giving way to wet, lichen covered rock as he neared the threshold of the crag. Below, a dark, agitated sea washed up against a short shingle beach. The figure turned at the sound of Julius' footsteps and regarded him mildly, with an indecipherable expression. "Mild for the time of year, don't you think?" The stranger asked. "Where...?" Began Julius, but the stranger cut him off. "That's what they always say first, where, or who, or how, or what. Always questions, never answers."

"Should I have answers?" Julius ventured. "Should? Don't often hear that one." Came the reply. "Don't you know, were you not... no, I can see that you haven't faced... and no-one..."

"Faced what? No-one what?" Demanded Julius, his pulse quickening with a combination of anger, frustration and anxiety. "Questions, questions, you must seek your own answers in this place. I cannot give that which you need."

"Then have you no purpose here?" asked Julius. "Sometimes." Came the reply, "Though this road is rarely trodden." He sighed. "What I can I give you. You are in twilight, my friend. You must travel your own road, perhaps you will find your way from the shadows, perhaps not." He shrugged. "Follow the road, magus." The stranger pointed to the causeway, had it always been there, or had it simply appeared, Julius could not tell. The stranger turned back to the sea.

For lack of alternative, Julius headed to the causeway and disappeared into the mists.

[b:5aaa78abe5]Gabriel[/b:5aaa78abe5]

As the jet's hatch opened, Gabriel got his first glimpse of London in over a century. Memories of oppressing clouds of soot and smoke, gaslight torches, and the gentle rapping of walking sticks was replaced with the almost immediate screech of automobiles and powerful office buildings. As the two Kindred made their way across the relative emptiness of the airport, Gabriel mused at how much things had truly changed...while it was almost certain that the Kindred of the city were still very much the same.

The ride to the hotel was short and uneventful, Noshad glancing out the window and marvelling at the "backwardness" of the roads, while Gabriel mapped out his plan in his mind. He walked with complete focus, past the lobby and to the elevators where he began his ascent to his specified room.

Once in the room, he checked it discreetly for bugs or monitoring devices of any kind. Finding none, he threw his heavy overcoat upon the bed and awaited the arrival of his assistants.

He didn't have to wait long before Noshad, accompanied by a favored ghoul, entered carrying a rather cumbersome amount of luggage. Light mists of rain began to rap on the window as the three worked dillegantely to set up the labtop and monitoring equipment.

They worked late into the night, silent and solemn, before finally sun-proofing the room. As Gabriel stretched the final bit of masking tape across the heavy end of the drapes, already Noshad had laid down to retire. The ghoul, a younger named Tyler, was instructed to keep watch, and to gather what information he could during the day.

The next night they would discover what information they could about their mysterious doctor....